


Everything and More

by rachel614 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Irene is super sketch, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019, but i love her anyway, was supposed to be crack and as usual got sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 02:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rachel614
Summary: Suddenly tired of her games, he said wearily, “Tell me what you want, Ms. Adler. There’s little point in delay.”-------------------------Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019; Day 1: "We'll start with the riding crop."Irene Adler wants something from Sherlock Holmes.Sherlock just wants Molly.





	Everything and More

Sherlock woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings. He knew immediately that he was not alone; the quiet sound of breathing and an oddly familiar, delicate perfume was enough to tell him that. He focused on keeping his own breathing in the light pattern of sleep, and kept his eyes closed. The longer his companion thought he was unconscious, the more information he could gather.

 

“We’ll start with the riding crop, shall we?” A deliberately husky contralto, imitating his own tones and pattern of speech.

Clearly his attempt at a ruse had failed. Pulling a trademark smirk across his face, he opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.

It was at this point he became aware of both the restraints on his wrists and ankles, and the source of the perfume’s nagging familiarity.

He fell back on the propped pillows with a thump, and eyed his captor warily.

Irene Adler sat perched on the edge of the bed, smiling at him. She wasn’t—quite—naked, and did indeed carry a riding crop. One that he strongly suspected was his own.

“I use that on corpses, you know.” His voice was raspy, and Sherlock realized he was desperately thirsty; the kind of thirst that comes from a night spent drinking. Or being drugged senseless.

 

Irene tsked at him, shaking her head as she poured water into a glass from a carafe on the bedside table.

In her own voice, she said, “My dear boy, what’s a few pathogens between friends? It’s not drugged,” she added, as she held the glass to his lips.

She was most likely telling the truth, and besides, he was really quite thirsty. Despite his infamous dietary habits, Sherlock was well aware of his physical limits, and he knew he was dehydrated to the point of compromising his mental functions. Between the thirst and the lingering effects of whatever sedative she’d given him and the shock of waking up in an entirely unexpected situation, Sherlock was left reeling, with an unfamiliar feeling that he’d forgotten something. Something quite important.

 

He drank the water, and as he did so finally took stock of his surroundings.

They were in a palatial bedroom. A hotel suite, by the unassuming decor and lack of personality. A private room would have some indication of the resident’s habits. Here, no one stayed long enough to leave their mark.

Irene wore a sheer dressing gown that gave only a pretense of modesty. There was no sign of his own clothes, and he wore only his pants. He was restrained to the bedposts with soft fabric ties he knew without trying would not be breakable. Not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but not loose enough to allow him much motion, either.

 

Irene set the glass back in the table and smiled at him, serene and confident, exuding power. Once upon a time, he had found her intriguing. Attractive in all the worst ways.

Now, he wished for Molly.

 

_ Molly. _

He fought a rising tide of panic as the previous night’s events began to come back to him. They’d been out for dinner, for the first time in weeks. It hadn’t even been case related. He tamped down his unruly emotions, and looked Irene in the eye.

“Where is my wife?” She raised a delicate brow.

“That is not often a question I hear while in bed.”

“Do you often kidnap married men?”

“Only the ones who beg me to,” she said, eyes glinting and voice dripping with insinuation.

“The only woman I’ve ever begged is Molly, so I’d be thankful if you released me.” She let out a low, rolling chuckle, and gently stroked his cheek. He strove not to flinch.

“My dear Mr. Holmes, that would ruin all the  _ fun _ . I always did wonder why you succumbed to the mousy charms of the little pathologist. It’s because you’ve got  _ boring. _ We simply must correct that.”

 

For the first time since he woke up, Sherlock was well and truly angry. He couldn’t bear the thought of this—this  _ woman _ —smugly criticizing the best and kindest person he knew. Having been with Molly, he couldn’t imagine how the Woman had ever managed to catch his attention so thoroughly. Intelligence used for gain rather than benefit of mankind, wit used to cut down opponents rather than spread joy, beauty flaunted as a weapon rather than offered as a private gift. Molly had everything Irene had, and more besides.

 

Suddenly tired of her games, he said wearily, “Tell me what you want, Ms. Adler. There’s little point in delay.” She frowned, taken aback by his directness. For the first time he saw a flicker of unease, and he took a grim satisfaction in it.

“You  _ have _ changed,” she said.

“What do you want?”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“You.”

 

A memory of Molly rose before his eyes, her serious, kind eyes offering him everything she had. Cheeks stained with tears for his lost, mad sister, and for tiny bones in an abandoned well. Soft kisses at the start and finish of every case. Small hands wrapped around silly kitten mugs. Cheerful jumpers on foggy days. Damp hair and flushed face as she labored to bring their son into the world. A warm and abiding love that made the most ordinary of days utterly absorbing.

 

“You will never have me,” he said quietly, and he saw that she believed him. Something dark—anger? despair?—flashed in her eyes, and she opened her mouth in a furious gash—

 

Whatever words she would have spoken were lost to history as the door slammed open, and John Watson strode in, gun raised. Irene stood.

“Well,” she said, with some bitterness. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Holmes. If you’ll be so kind as to let me go, Mr. Watson, the Prime Minister will likely thank you.”

John rolled his eyes, and jerked his head towards the window. And in a moment she was gone.

Sherlock hopes never to see her again.

 

“Mate, you have got to stop saving the lives of psychotic females.They clearly don’t appreciate it.”

“They appreciate it a little too much,” Sherlock said ruefully as John cut the ties on his wrists. John smirked at him, and he said a trifle sharply, “I seem to remember that you were quite keen on the Woman, once.”

“If I’d known you had a thing for Molly I’d never have said a word.”

“Where is Molly? I half expected her to be right behind you.”

“Oh, I am. Just giving you boys a moment.”

 

For the first time all morning, a genuine smile spread across his face. She looked tired, and grumpy, and her hair was a mess, and she was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She tossed him a set of clothes.

“Got some paracetamol, for when you’ve dressed.”

“I love you,” he said fervently. She smiled.

“I know.”

 

Later, much later, he stood by the window in Bakerstreet, watching Molly nurse their infant son. His phone gave a brief chirp. He looked at it and sighed. Sent a reply. Setting his phone on his desk, he strode across the room and sank onto the couch next to his wife. Once upon a time, he’d failed to see the worth of this woman. Now she held his very heart in her arms.

 

**_What does she have that I don’t, Mr. Holmes?_ **

  
**_Everything_ ** **.**

**Author's Note:**

> I do love Irene, although I really don't ship her and Sherlock. In another verse, she and Molly would be friends, but not in this fic!  
> This was supposed to be a super cracky piece where Molly comes in guns blazing, but then my sentiment took over, and I decided to focus on some of Molly's under-appreciated virtues ;)


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